


Big Bad Rumlow

by SwampWitch



Series: The Assistant [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:57:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwampWitch/pseuds/SwampWitch
Summary: prequel to part 1





	Big Bad Rumlow

**Author's Note:**

> prequel to part 1

               Brock Rumlow typically moved with fluid strength that belied the muscles straining his clothes. Like a jungle cat, he could move up behind someone and they would never know it if he didn't want them to. More than once he had spoken while standing behind a junior agent, only to have the rookie drop everything they were holding. 

                While Brock was viewed as a master tactician, he was also widely considered to be an asshole. It was easy to accept that the man was good at his job, but it was equally easy to accept that he went out of his way to make sure that everyone gave him and the other STRIKE agents a very wide berth. So widely accepted was this view that only a small handful of people knew how softhearted the man really was.

* * *

                Darcy stood in Coulson’s office, going over some of the reports from logistics. They were asking for more money when there was none to give, and going through the paperwork was giving Phil a migraine.

                She was sick to death of all the complaints coming in to Coulson's office. As if the man didn't have enough to worry about. At least once a day someone had a complaint about funding, and a complaint about Brock Rumlow. The most recent seemed that no one had come to collect the STRIKE reports from the STRIKE commander's office, and so Rumlow had bitched at the entire logistics division when his team didn't have the gear they needed on their most recent op. Not that it seemed to matter, considering that the team was finished up and back to base ahead of schedule. 

                “As soon as I have the SRTIKE reports submitted, I’ll be able to get everything filed by the end of Monday, and then we can schedule some meetings for this.”

                “Excellent work, Darcy.”

                “No problem boss- man. Also, I brought cookies for Ellie in Legal, and I totally brought enough to share.”

                “Thank you, but no, I have to spend enough time in the gym as it is for a man my age.”

                “I call bullshit, boss, I saw the feed from the gas station.”

                Phil gave her a small smile. A soft click brought his attention to the door.

                “Agent Rumlow, you weren’t expected back for several more hours.” Darcy began. “Are you here to drop off the STRIKE reports?” she asked him mildly. He seemed exhausted.

                “Listen sweetheart, can you fuckin’ beat it? I gotta talk to Coulson, and you’ll get your damn reports when I fucking finish ‘em.”

                Darcy stood up straight and threw her papers onto Phil’s desk. Her normally ivory skin flushed dark, and she wordlessly stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

                How dare he speak to me like that! Absolutely seething, Darcy grabbed the plate of cookies from the small refrigerator behind her desk and proceeded to Legal, hoping her friends could pick up her soured mood.

\-------------------------

                Brock winced when the door slammed. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but he was barely holding himself together. At any moment he might have to lurch to the trash can and throw up in it.

                He looked regretfully at Phil, whose expression changed from anger into a blend of anger and concern. Brock knew that he was ashen and unsteady on his feet.

                “I do hope it’s something urgent, Commander Rumlow?”

                Brock groaned a bit at Phil’s use of his full rank. They had been friends for years, and Brock knew that it was a sure sign that Phil was angry with him.

                “I know, I know. I was an asshole-” Brock was cut off by a wet coughing fit that shook his whole body. It had been years since he had been really sick, and almost a decade since he had needed to request leave.

                “Have you been to medical?”

                “No.”

                Phil sighed. “Do you intend to go to medical?”

                “No.”

                “Can I assume then that you are going to be taking a few days, at least? Maybe get yourself well enough to apologize to the only assistant that I have ever had who is capable of keeping up with my workload?”

                Brock made a face. “I really didn’t mean-”

                “I don’t care, Brock. I’ll grant your leave, since I know that I’ll regret it more than you will if I don’t, and because you never take sick leave when you should- but you owe that young woman an apology.”

                “I’ll apologize, Phil.”

                “Good. Now go lay down in your office before you fall down. I’ll page Rollins and ask him to file the mission reports.”

                “No, I can still handle that.”

                Phil looked at the man, really looked. Brock Rumlow was not a man that liked to be seen as weak. To him, everything was a weakness that could be exploited. He was fluid and graceful in his movements, and the stark contrast now in his posture was concerning all on its own. He presented himself around SHIELD as invincible. His act certainly kept the other agents away. Between Rumlow’s and Rollins’ attitudes, the STRIKE agents were generally given plenty of elbow room. Brock encouraged the rumors that he was a harsh and angry man, if only to avoid being seen as weak. Phil knew that as Brock aged, this complex was only going to get worse.

                “Brock.” Phil spoke soft enough to let his concern bleed through.

                Brock looked up, while leaning heavily against the back of the chair in front of Phil’s desk.

                “I know that you trust Jack with everything. I know that it wouldn’t be the first time he’s covered for you. I’m perfectly okay with that. That’s the entire point of having a second in command. I’m also fairly certain that he would be angry that you were pushing yourself when you are already in bad shape. Now go.”

                Brock didn’t have the strength the fight with Phil. He didn’t have the strength to do anything but fall over. He dragged himself along the wall to his office, thankful that while it was at the opposite end of a very long hallway, he at least didn’t need to do stairs.

\---------------------------------

                “Honestly, the guy is such a pretentious dick. Something about the dangly parts makes men think they can treat us like shit.”

                Ellie was a breath of fresh air. She was sweet and adorable. Her short, curly hair was wrapped up in the most beautiful cloth Darcy had ever seen. Her deep umber complexion was glowing, and she was smiling for the first time in days. It was good to see.

                “I just don’t understand it. He goes out of his way to be an asshole. I know the STRIKE guys work hard, but dammit I don’t deserve that.” Darcy dunked a cookie into her coffee.

                Ellie hummed thoughtfully. A small smile crept across her face, and she said quietly, “We should break into his office.”

                Darcy burst out laughing. “Oh my god, what would we do in there?”

                “Nothing big. Just move some things around and let him know somebody was in there going through all his things. I bet you ten dollars you won’t do it.” Ellie grabbed another cookie, and stood up.

                “I will take that bet, and not just because I would do it for free.” Darcy paused, and looked at her friend. “I’m glad you’re doing better, by the way. He didn’t deserve you.”

                “Oh, I know that. I still loved him, though. Besides, I have a date with a hot para- rescue I met when I took those forms down to the VA.”

                “Is it Sam? Tell me it’s Sam. He’s so sweet; and that ass that just won’t quit? Oh yeah.”

                “Mmmm. You’ll just have to find out.” Ellie gave her a mischievous smile.

                Before Darcy could respond, her phone rang. 

                “Lewis.”

                “Darcy, Jack Rollins is going to be submitting the STRIKE mission reports instead of Rumlow.” He paused. “They may take a little longer for you to work through. Rollins codes things in differently, and while it is more efficient for the person writing them, they're a nightmare to put into the records. He also has the worst handwriting I have ever seen, and I've seen Barton's.”

                Darcy sighed. “I’ll stay as late as I need to, Phil.”

                “Thank you, Darcy.” He hung up.

                Turning back to Ellie, Darcy said, “Alright, my plans for the night and possibly the weekend are officially a bust. But I want all the details from your date! I specifically need to know if that ass is as firm as it looks.”

                Ellie laughed as Darcy grabbed her blazer from the chair and headed back to her office.

* * *

              The sun had long since gone down, and the dark and the quiet was driving Darcy a little stir crazy. As she glanced at the time on her monitor, she realized that she had missed the last bus out to her shitty little apartment several hours ago. It was just after ten when she finished packing her bag and remembered Ellie's bet. A spark of anger flared up again, and Darcy stepped out of her office and crept to the end of the hallway. As she reached the doorway to the operative potion of the level where Rumlow's office was situated, she tried to find something to do. Deciding she would have to be impulsive, she stepped up to his door.

                 Darcy frowned a little when she saw that the door wasn't latched. If ever there was a door that needed to be locked at all times, it was surely the office door of STRIKE Commander Brock Rumlow. If the vital intelligence that was key to the operation of SHIELD wasn't enough, Rumlow was a senior operative with top level clearance- anyone with sufficient computer skills could access the entirety of the SHIELD mainframe from his office computer. Not to mention that his office connected to both the STRIKE locker room and SIC Jack Rollins' office.

                Easing the door fully open, Darcy didn't see anyone. She decided that Ellie must have had the jump on her before her date. A tiny voice in the back of Darcy's mind told her that Ellie wouldn't have left the door open.

                Stepping close to the desk to see what Ellie had done, a noise stopped her. Whirling around she saw him. Filthy and disheveled, he was prone on the small couch in his office. Brock Rumlow looked like absolute shit. He should have been home hours ago. Why would he still be here if he had deferred his reports to Rollins?

                Darcy walked softly over to Brock. He had deep circles under his eyes. They must have been quite dark to stand out against his already olive skin. He had various scrapes and cuts along his forearms,  and his throat was swollen up under the hinges of his jaw. All the anger bled out of her. His reputation of never taking sick leave was legendary. He also felt that if he never took leave, no one else should either. It was a major point of contention with literally every other agent under his command. 

                Darcy laid a hand against his forehead, and then his cheek. She frowned; concerned. Brock Rumlow was sick. He was never sick, but here he was. If he was well, the office would have been locked, he would have been home, and if he hadn't been home, Darcy would never have made it into the office. He wasn't still the STRIKE commander after all these years for nothing. 

                Pulling a hideous and worn out poncho liner from underneath the couch, she covered him up. Fishing out a few bottles of water from a cabinet, and some cold medicine from the seemingly never used first aid kit bolted to the wall, she laid everything on the end table beside the couch. He hadn't budged. 

* * *

                Darcy ordered her uber to pick her up across the street from the triskellion, and she made her way home. Her tiny one bedroom apartment was appalling, considering her salary, but she couldn't see the point of a larger investment for just herself.

                She pulled out a container of frozen soup, and put it on the stove. Another pack contained frozen matzoh balls, which she put into the cold oven and turned on. Her grandmother would tsk if she knew that Darcy made this soup from frozen, but it was from scratch when it went into the freezer in the first place, and she ate too much of it to make it from scratch every time. 

                She picked out some clothes to walk back home in, because no way was she shelling out money for an uber a third time. Thirty goddamn dollars one way is enough thank you very fucking much and I have to do it twice.

                Her terrible water pressure and almost- hot water had never felt better. After a shower lengthy enough to run the hot water tank cold, Darcy redressed and ordered the second uber back to the Trisk.

                Checking the matzoh balls and soup, Darcy found them both ready. She dug deep in her cabinets for the enormous Stanley thermos that she used for coffee in the depths of winter. Filling it with her now steaming soup, Darcy headed back outside.

* * *

                  As she returned to her floor at the Trisk, she noticed a dim light eking out from under Rumlow's office door, which was now closed.  Darcy stood outside and knocked. When there was no answer, she knocked again. Only silence greeted her.

                    Lifting the badge from around her neck, Darcy slid it through the key code. She selected priority access and hoped it wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass. Anyone who was anyone could look into the records and see who had opened Rumlow's door, especially at such an unusual time of the day. 

                    Closing the door behind her as quietly as she could, Darcy realized that Brock was in the shower. No wonder he didn't hear the door.

                    Brock's filthy clothes were folded up on the corner of his desk, as though he intended to put them back on when he was finished showering. 

                    Gently setting down the thermos, Darcy rifled through the desk until she found a pack of dusty sticky notes. Scribbling quickly, she left a note on the lid of the soup.

                                    " _My Grandmom_

_always made this_

_for me when I was_

_sick- I hope it helps._ "

                    She left the note unsigned. He didn't need to know who was taking care of him. Especially when she was going to hold on to her justifiable anger.

                    Darcy smiled a little to herself. Looking around, she spotted the door to the STRIKE locker room. Sincerely hoping it was empty at this hour of the night, she slid the door open and stepped through.  The very first thing she noticed was that it was, in fact, empty. The second thing she noticed was that it was gleaming. Everything was sterile. There wasn't so much as a towel on the floor or a weird smell. Whoever cleans this place needs to visit my floor, Darcy thought bitterly.

                    She searched for the locker that said **RUMLOW** on it. Happily noting that none of the lockers had locks, she opened Brock's. Everything was organized with military precision- a testament to his time in the Marines.

                    Grabbing a set of sweat clothes and a bag from the laundry cart, she slipped back into Rumlow's office. Darcy draped the clean clothes over his chair, so he wouldn't miss them. She was reluctant to touch the filth- covered tac- gear, and instead left the bag overtop of them. Hearing the water turn off and the shower curtain swish open, she left the office as quietly as she had entered it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add the rest when I find my notes


End file.
